


Night

by biggerboat



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Bickering, Domestic, M/M, Secret Crush, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggerboat/pseuds/biggerboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of scenes from the Shatterdome after hours, because something about the dark brings the truth out in people.</p><p>[Unfinished as of October 2014. In the meantime, enjoy what's there.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scene 1

_In through the nose. Out through the mouth._

_In the nose. Out the mouth. In, then out, and in, then out, and tonight will be over and you'll settle down to sleep._

Except Hermann never slept on problems. He thought about them. And thinking propagated thinking, propagated dwelling, propagated obsessing, propagated lying wide bloody awake at half past three in the morning.

Twice he covered his head with the pillow. Once he longed for a bath. He entertained the notion in passing of a heist on Pentecost's quarters, to see if whatever he kept in that pill box could make a man drowsy. Anything to stop with the breathing exercises.

He wrote it off as soon as it had hit him. Absurd. The kind of thing his colleague would come up with. But as he kneaded his hair and lay back against the sheets for the twentieth time, he veered away from calculus.

_His colleague_.

Hermann frowned.  _What about him?_  Still in the lab, he supposed. He sat with the stillness of the room for a minute and found it… for once… disquieting.

And lonely.

Not alone. Lonely.

Only one thing had worked before, and he would take it to his grave. Desperate measure. Desperate time. Either this or the insomnia would kill him.

The worktable rattled under his weight as he got to his feet. He searched for the light - switched it on - good. His red bathrobe from the last Shatterdome hung beside the door, limp like an old tea towel.

It took him all his strength to stumble forth, sling it over his shoulder, and stumble back, and he capsized into bed beside it. When the blood stopped pounding in his ears he reached over - turned the light off - and tried to situate himself.

_On the back. No, wait. On the side_. He slipped under the covers and cushioned his bad leg in the fabric.

And his hand began to wander. Cup his face. Feel his throat. He looked the other way as it drifted down his neckline, across his breastbone to touch at the sensitive spot he found there. Pleasant - but not arousing - so he unbuttoned his shirt, running curious fingers into the valley of his stomach.

The cold tingled on his chest, and he curled into the robe for protection. He swallowed hard and whispered, small and anxious:

"Hello, Newton."

No answer. He pushed through his nerves and pecked, one, two, where a forehead should have been. Another for the temple and another for the cheek, before he threw his arm around himself and tipped his head in for the kill.

_Ugh. Terrycloth._  He tried to keep it out. But his mind took off to elsewhere, to wet lips and warm breath, good for something for once besides jeering at him.

" _Ahh_ ," he continued, burying the collar in the side of his neck - "Newton,  _please!_ "

Conjecture, he realized. All conjecture. He could handle a little conjecture. He thought of eyes, big and eager, hungry, perplexed when the glasses came off. Scratchy chin. Tousled hair. Those kaiju on his arms that in the daytime seemed so aberrantly awful but tonight,  _tonight,_  what a  _bad_  boy, how  _thrilling_ , he kissed faster and harder and his nails dug into his back and -

_Oh._

He fell back to earth and found himself… wanting.

A footstep echoed outside and startled him. He scanned the room between paranoid blinks and fingered his waistband… the drawstring…

_Oh, god, just do it._

Humiliation burned in his ears. His hand closed around his shaft.

He stroked slowly at first. A pull of his palm. A brush of his thumb. He rolled onto his back and imagined being pushed - scaled - mounted. His free arm dragged the robe onto his chest and it became Newton again, squirming, holding onto Hermann's shoulders for dear life as he said… what would he say?

He found the stretch of skin underneath and it came to him.

_Fuck me!_

The thought made him greedy. It filled him with ideas, one lurid image after another. He hissed and favored the spot in time to rocking hips, rubbing flesh, moans stockpiled from the last time Newton concussed himself, teeth in his clavicle  _oh_  and pressure in his groin  _ahh_  and there it was, he heard it again,  _faster faster oh Herms fuck me good_ , a flash in the pan of bitten lips and bruised knees and soon he found himself gulping, gasping, once, twice, oh,  _god_ , he almost- breathe, _breathe_ , no noise Hermann, mouth in the breastpocket, silence, _silence, mnh, mnnhhh_  as his bad leg cramped,  _oh, Newt, I can't, not much longer,_  his knuckles white and his cock red and now slick and now pearly and -

His back arched. His eyes screwed shut. He held a lungful of air as he spilled into his grasp, eight weeks of need draining from his toes.

His vision cleared. The world settled around him. He let the robe slip off his chest and melted around it, working his hand out so as not to stain the blanket.

_Now what?_

A foggy bliss in his frontal lobe told him to experiment. He held his pinky to his tongue - closer - almost licked it clean - before shame seized his gut and sat in it like lead.

_You dirty fool._

He searched the bedside for a handkerchief and made himself decent.

The door hatch clanked. He froze. His head dove under the blanket as it opened an inch at a time.

" _Psst!_ " The dreaded voice spat. " _Hermann!_ "

He feigned newfound consciousness. "What?"

"You awake?"

"I am now."

"Got me a caudate liver!" The voice raised. "Wanna check it out?"

"What I  _want_  is to _sleep_."

One beat… two… and the door did not close.

"Were you jerkin' it in here?"

Hermann heaved to the other side. "I was _not-_ "

"'Cause, 'cause, I mean." Newt backpedaled. "That's fine!" He held up his hands in surrender. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do." He descended deeper and deeper into snickers. "Or a… dweeby virgin's gotta do what a-"

" _Newton!_ "

Newt started... then shrugged.

"Whatever." He grabbed the hatch with both fists. "Rub one out for victory, man, I'm gonna look at _livers!_ "

The voice faded as it babbled all the way down the hall. Hermann resumed his position and retreated into himself, fingers folding over his shoulder blade and the small of the back of the robe.

And after a hesitant moment he murmured, face pressed to the lapel:

"Good night."


	2. Scene 2

"Marshal," Hermann announced, switching on the channel on the side of his projector. "Good morning."

The voice came through scratchy. " _Afternoon, Dr. Gottlieb_."

Instruments clinked from the other side of the room. "Oh, wait, is that - hey!" Newt cupped his hands to his mouth. "Marshal! How's it goin' on that Ranger?"

" _Poorly_." A roll of thunder. " _But his file states he's alive. He's along this wall somewhere._ "

"Well, I  _am_  sorry to hear that." Hermann took hold of the conversation before Newt could hijack it. "But what do you need from me?"

 _"I'll be back for a while tomorrow, and I want a_  full _analysis._ " Pentecost's tone turned grim. " _On the last event and the next one._ "

Hermann leaned in toward the receiver. "Pardon?"

" _LOCCENT is worried the Breach may be widening. Changing form._ Something." Another sheet of rain scrambled Pentecost's voice. " _We're losing track of them, Doctor. I need answers._ "

"It's not the  _Breach_  that worries me, it…" Hermann returned to his projection - "... remains qualitatively consistent." He pulled up some of his data. "But the kaiju  _are_  coming more often, and if I could just find a formula that gives a… satisfying explanation…" He fumbled around for scratch paper. "In fact, I…"

He reached in the desk drawer. Empty.

"Newton, what have you done with my pencils?"

A wet squelch.

" _Newton?_ "

"Little busy here…"

Hermann huffed. "A moment, Marshal…"

He switched the projection off and forced himself out of his chair. One foot in front of the other - good, then again - he cast off from his desk and -

His toe caught on his ankle. He flailed and reached for something, anything, his cane,  _too far_ , the seat,  _unstable_ , and the floor rose up to meet him, dead weight on cold tile, pain stabbing through his wrists and knees.

"Hermann?" Gloves snapped and chair wheels rattled. " _Hermann!_ "

He held his face. "Ugghh…"

Fingers folded over his shoulders. "Are you all right?!"

His hand flew off of his face and tried to slap Newton away. "Leave me alone!"

"Calm down, I'm just trynna -"

"I  _said_  leave me  _alone!_ "

Hermann drew back like a wounded animal. Before his colleague could contest it he rose on shaky arms, grabbed his notebooks, and stormed out, cheeks hot and cane clicking under his skinned hand.

* * *

When the halls cleared for the night shift Hermann slipped out of hiding. He buried himself in the elevator behind a mob of technicians, and crept into the upper break room as the last welder left.

Dim lighting, he judged. Dirty kitchen. One soft chair, stained with something uncontemplatable. But quiet at this hour, and working where he'd slept last night had left him restless.

Every time he looked up in there he saw the bathrobe on the door.

He took the first aid kit off the wall before he slumped into the old upholstery. With both hands he hoisted his foot onto the seat and pushed his trousers over his knee.

It'd bled through again.  _Damn._  He popped open the plastic box and tore off the spent bandage, wincing as it went.

 _On second thought_  - he considered -  _maybe this will be good for you._  His short nails picked at the paper on the fresh one.  _Something to think about. Take pleasure in._  He got it free and stretched it over the raw spot.  _Instead of worrying._

"Argyle?"

Hermann jumped out of his skin.

"Really, dude?"

_Oh god._

"What is that, like." Newt leaned on the door frame. "Four patterns?"

"That's none of your -" Hermann rolled his pant leg down as fast as he could. "I'm not - Newton, I-" His thoughts fell out like a derailing train - "- are you  _following_ me?!"

"Huh?" Newt scrunched his nose. " _No_."

Hermann clutched his notebook to his chest. "Well then why are you  _here?_ "

"Well, Papa Marshal was right, he just got back a minute ago." Newt barged forth. "But between the last event and this whole Ranger deal…" in front of the plastic chairs - "I just  _know_  he's gonna be cheesed off." Past the pitted card table. "And you know how he is when he's cheesed off, he goes around doin' that  _face_  at everybody…" he made it - "... and he's gotta go by the lab on the way to his stompin' grounds..." around the counter - "... so, long story short, I thought I'd clear out for a while, and I heard from Tendo you were up here." His tracks stopped in front of the refrigerator. "And on top of that I'm hungry."

Hermann crossed his good leg across his bad one to hide the blood spot. "Are you making your own dopamine again?"

"What?"

Hermann gave him  _the look._

"Oh." Yellow light flooded the corner as Newt opened the refrigerator door. "Yeah, probably, huh."

Hermann bowed his head and rubbed his knee. Still smarted under bandage and wool. Newt brought out sandwich makings and set to work.

His boot tapped on the cement below him.

"You gonna be up for a while?"

Hermann's eyes closed. "Foreseeably."

Newt looked up from the ham.

"Then you better eat, trooper." His hand fished inside. "You're fadin'."

"I'm not  _fading_ ," Hermann insisted. "Maybe I'm a little  _peaky_."

"Yeah, well, see." Newt produced a bread knife and tilted it to admire the sheen. "If you kick the bucket-"

"Newton, I'm not  _dying_ -"

"- if  _you_  kick the bucket, I'm running K-Science by myself." He pulled the bread tie-first toward himself, gesturing with the knife as he spoke. "Which sounds cool on paper, but I actually don't  _like_  math, and I got a theory that chalk neutralizes kaiju toxins."

"So you agree."

Newt cut through the cheese wrapper. "What?"

Hermann studied his lap. "That I'm of some use to you."

"Naw,  _don't_  start with that!" Newt wagged his free finger as he layered his sandwich. "I know where this is going."

It shook Hermann out of it. "Oh,  _do_  you."

"I'm Dr. Gottlieb!" Newt lifted the edge of the bread and pantomimed in the Queen's English. "And I love math so much I'm gonna marry it, and-"

Hermann tossed his head aside. "Oh, for  _god's_  sake!"

Newt opened the cabinet above the toaster and sought out a labeled grey box. He paused - checked over his shoulder - good, still distracted - and snatched a tea bag from under the lid.

"What?" He pulled a mug out after it. "It's true." He filled it from the tap. "I don't say stuff that's not true."

"You  _exaggerate_  and you  _ridicule_ , so yes, you might as well."

The microwave hummed. Newt circled the kitchen, heel-toeing to an unheard song. When it finished he yanked out the cup and dropped in the tea bag, ferrying it across the room and presenting it at the old leather chair.

And Hermann blinked. Stared at it. Blinked up at his colleague.

"Is that- "

Newt's eyebrows hiked. "Chamomile?"

"You got into my tea box."

Newt shrugged. "No man left behind."

Hermann hesitated and tried to process. Someone made him tea.  _Newton_  made him tea. Chamomile. For sleep.

His gaze sank, and he took it in unsteady hands.

"Thank you."

Newt bounced back to his sandwich. "Really?"

"That was conscientious."

Newt opened his full mouth to talk. "Aw, now you're layin' it on." He stuck his hand in his back pocket and made for the doorway with his prize. "Oh, and - sorry 'bout your pants!"

He disappeared before Hermann could chastise him for noticing.

In the regained privacy Hermann cradled the cup in both palms. He held it to his face and let the steam lick over his eyelids - his brow - his cheeks.


	3. Scene 3

“So, Herms, hypothetically speaking.”

Hermann pushed at his potatoes.

Newt shoveled the casing end of a weenie into his mouth. “If you could have a one-night stand with anybody in this dump.” Loud chewing. “Who would it be?”

An incoherent mumble.

“Wha’s that?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“That’s not ridiculous!” Newt chirped. “People hook up all the time.”

Hermann speared one and inspected it. Still not hungry.

“No, really, man, what is it?” Newt maneuvered his tray aside and folded his arms atop the table. “Are you into muscle, or...” he leaned in close and put on a furtive grin - “are you, like… still waters run deep?”

Hermann’s long suffering came through in his voice. “I don’t work like that, Newton, we’ve had this conversation.”

“Ma-a-an.” Newt craned back and stretched his legs under the table. “Were you _ever_ cool, or were you _born_ the fun police?”

A whiff of cologne behind him precluded a response.

“Oh, hey! Hey, Tendo!” Newt hollered after him. “I _told_ you he wouldn’t tell me!”

Tendo whirled around. “Wait, you _asked_ him?”

“Yeah!” Newt puffed up. “Just now.”

Tendo burst out a chuckle like steam out a valve.

“Wow.” He shook his head. “You’re a shitheel.”

“What? Why?!”

Tendo paced away backward. “Y’know what, Newt, you’re just…” he pivoted and missed the Kaidonovsky man by an inch - “... you’re one of a kind.”

* * *

The winter monsoon blew a bitter chill through the lab, refrigerating Newt’s tissue samples and frosting the glass on the tanks. Newt pressed on in shirtsleeves and swore about the cold. Hermann lurked by his chalkboard in two pairs of socks, feeding the nest of equations on the lower left corner.

_M (t, sub one, xi) equals…_

Scissors snipped. Innards squished.

_… Psi, sub one, t, sub one..._

Newt hummed in tune to the god-knows-what in his head.

_Xi, and close paren--_

His hand faltered. His chalk flew out. The squeak pierced the air, and it splintered when it hit the floor.

“ _Jesus_ , dude!” Newt recoiled. “Don’t _do_ that.”

Hermann stared cross-eyed at his fingers. “I can’t feel my bloody hands.”

Newt reached for his coffee. “You’ve been workin’ for six hours. I’m surprised you can feel your _brain_.”

“That long?” Hermann huddled into his jacket. “What time is it?...”

“Quarter-to-one.”

Hermann massaged his temples and left white streaks on his forehead. Brain sensation debatable.

“Go on.” A swig. “Get outta here. Take a break.” Newt set the cup down. “I heard there’s hot water in the third floor shower. I’d go up and grab it ‘fore the J-Tech goons find out.”

And as his colleague stood and picked up his cane he added, “and get some _alone_ time.”

“Newton, where _would_ I be without you?”

* * *

The soles of Hermann’s shoes echoed off the tiles as he made his way inside.

He looked left. Right. Listened for signs of life. When he deemed the coast clear he pushed the vented door closed, and with an arm’s full strength shoved the nearby chair in front of it.

After he set his things down on the counter he stopped. Thought. Clenched… unclenched his fingers. Even with the door blocked a draft leaked through the walls, and the lights flickered, and the thin curtains rustled, and the mirror sat _right there_ before him, and he…

And he...

 _Come on, Hermann_ , he goaded himself. _Be brave._

He slipped out of his jacket and wrestled out of his sweater, hanging them in order on the hook. Off came his shoes, his trousers, first socks, second socks, his… no, buttons, _then_ the rest of his shirt - until there he stood, in front of the mirror, naked except for his shorts.

He stared at the lower half of his reflection to avoid its eyes.

_Well._

Two wrists. Two elbows. A chest as smooth as the day his voice cracked. Narrow hips and knobby knees, holding up two, four, six gaps between four… six… eight ribs… wait, what if he turned around and -- no, now ten.

He studied his toes. Goosebumps pricked at his arms.

Then inspiration struck him. _One hand on the counter to steady you. One shoulder turned to the front. Suck in your stomach and throw out your chest, stiff upper lip, straight upper back, like they do on the magazine covers._ He held it long enough to make a fist and pound twice, good and hard against his abdomen, and when it banged like an oil drum, god help him, he almost laughed.

Until he looked up and saw his face. His smile faded. He swallowed. Dropped the fist.

_The water must be warm by now._

* * *

_e to the power of… xi and t?_

Shampoo welled in his palm. _No._

He sunk to the shower floor and bowed his head. _Why not?_ Lather. _Too simple. Everything before it has been non-Euclidean._ He drew ellipses behind his ears. _Convoluted._ Around them. _Impossible calculus and complex numbers._

He swiped along his hairline. _What did you expect?_ Slicked his bangs back. _They’re otherworldly terrors. You’ve got to start thinking like one._

Wait.

He shook it off. _Now you’re just thinking like Newton._

Even in the privacy of his mind he refused to give an inch. But the full blast of hot water made the air bloom around him, and when he returned his hands to his soapy hair the sensation gave him pause.

_Wouldn’t it be nice if…_

No. No, it wouldn’t.

But he always felt so tense in that… part, on the back of his neck - right where it met his shoulder. _What was it? The trapezius?_ Newton would know.

Newton could rub it for him, too.

Hermann reached up with a fury and wrenched the hot tap off all at once.

* * *

After he crawled out and combed his hair he dressed. Quick. Quiet. Still avoiding the mirror. On went the red bathrobe over his steam-damp work clothes, and he left without looking back.

He found Newt relocated to his own side of the bedroom, thumbing through some dog-eared comic book.

“So.”

Hermann tensed as he closed the door.

Newt clicked his tongue and tucked the volume under the bed.

“Doctor Love.”

Hermann loosened his bathrobe knot.

“Feel any better?”

“No.” He abandoned the knot. “Why would I?”

“Y’know, Herms, I gotta say, I, I think I’ve been shorting you.” Newt righted himself and brought his feet up to the mattress. “Because the whole frigid nerd thing?” He reached around his knees. “You are keeping it up like a _pro_.”

Hermann’s face burned.

“Which is weird, y’know, because you’d expect it to come down sometime.” Newt untied the first of his boot laces. “I mean, everyone who’s watched a porno and a half knows that…” he pulled it through the holes - “that it’s always the teacher that’s, like, ten times as horny-- ”

Hermann stopped mid-reach for his worktable lamp.

“But you?” Newt whipped the lace out. “You shut _down_ at every _turn_ , dude!” And he set it aside. “That’s _impressive_.”

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Ignore him and he’ll wind down._

“In fact, once I get done with that liver, maybe I’ll run a test on you-- ”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

Newt stopped dead.

“Just…” Desperate this time - “shut up!”

Hermann turned fast and faced him, holding himself up on white knuckles. Newt’s face read like a bus had hit it.

“Dude, I-I was…” he stuttered as soon as he could - “... I was just kidding.”

Hermann shook like a whistling kettle. “No you weren’t, and you know it!”

“No, I…” Newt let loose a nervous chuckle. “I was.” He'd hit a hard fault. “I was, I was.”

“ _Newton!_ ” Hermann thundered. “Words - are _actions_. And _actions_ …” he fulminated with such intensity he bit his lip - “... have _consequences!_ ”

Newt bolted upright. “No, you know what?” He pointed an accusing finger across the room. “You need to take a fuckin’ joke.” His sock and his half-laced boot slammed into the floor. “I put up with a lot of your moods, man, but _something’s_ gotta give!”

“But it _doesn’t!_ ” Hermann cried out. “It _never_ gives!” He drew a shuddering breath as his voice softened. “Don’t you know the _pressure_ I'm under?”

“Well I --”

“No.” Hermann gulped. “You don’t.” He clutched his cane in one hand and his bathrobe lapel in the other. “You haven’t had an ounce of pressure in your…” he turned the handle - “... _brilliant_ … little… life.”

The door slammed behind him.

Newt sat rooted to the side of the bed, staring into the empty silence.


End file.
